


C'mon, Give Me Your Love (baby, all you have)

by ninhursag



Category: Salt (2010)
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, Marriage, girl on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike and Evelyn, in happier times. For the <a href="http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/"><strong>kink_bingo</strong></a> prompt <em>vehicular</em>.  Mostly a pwp (happy marrieds having kinky sex), no significant spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C'mon, Give Me Your Love (baby, all you have)

  
It's a Sunday morning, early, and it feels like there's no one on the road but them and the truckers. It's Sunday and the world is beautiful, unreasonably so.

"You're crazy," Mike says, but he's laughing even while the words spill out. "You're driving too fast, Evelyn." The heavy wind's already made a mess of his hair and he's flushed pink, boyish and delighted. Her favorite boy in the passenger seat of her favorite car, making the prettiest picture she's ever seen.

Evelyn smirks at him, tilting her lashes. "I'm crazy?" she says, smooth as you please. "At least I've got my hands on the steering wheel. Anyway, it's a German car, so you know it's safe."

He just grins and nods his head. "That is true," he says, with all due sincerity. "German cars are engineered to handle any difficulty."

She purses her lips. "I dare you to prove it, German boy," she murmurs and shifts in her seat. If the motion makes her skirt inch up her thigh, revealing a strip of sun tanned skin where her stocking stop, well, first time's coincidence.

Mike's eyes sparkle even while his brows go up. "It sounds to me like you're suggesting something rather illicit." He leans forward in his seat, but his belt is still buckled, stretched over his chest. It's nice that he can peel his eyes off her thigh long enough to meet her eyes. She's going to have to fix that.

"Wanting to prove your hypothesis about cars is illicit now?" She licks her lips. He swallows, a smooth motion of throat. She can almost feel the stubble on his neck, but she resists the urge to kiss him. Instead she leaves one hand on the wheel and reaches out to take his with her other.

His palm feels rough, callused from too much time in the field, looking for specimens. Rough, but perfect. She can feel his fingers twitch and move of their own volition when she presses them down against the bare skin of her thigh. "Illicit and a bit dangerous." His voice cracks on the vowels, but she can't say without looking at him if that's nerves or desire. Or six of one, half dozen of the other. "Should we pull over?"

Her smile stretches wide and vivid. "Not yet," she says, her voice smooth and even. Instead she pulls them into the left lane of the empty highway and steps on the gas. She turns to look at him, as if she weren't also looking at the road. He's still flushed, but there's a curl to his mouth and his eyes are shining, alive.

"Fair enough," he whispers. "I guess I'll have to trust in your skill." His palm is warm against her skin and slides it up, fingers gliding underneath her skirt. There's a grace to the movement, easy and practiced. He has beautiful hands. "I do, you know. Trust you. Absolutely."

Her knees slide open, as much in tune to his words as to the sudden insistence in his touch. She draws a slow, careful breath and her hands tighten, one on the steering wheel, the other over his. She can feel the warmth of his breath when he leans closer, the pull of his smile when his fingers slide all the way up and under the thin fabric of her underwear. She lifts her hips to let him pull the fabric down, just a little, just out of the way and lets him stroke her until she can smell herself, the slippery scent of arousal. Until her hands tremble on the wheel and the seat-leather under her thighs is wet. She lets him. She trusts him too, absolutely.

She must, none of this makes sense otherwise. Sometimes it terrifies her how little that scares her.

The tires squeal when she pulls over and takes the car off-road into a green, green meadow. "Stay there, right where you are," she hisses, without looking at him. She puts it into park but doesn't kill the engine. It's a rough idle, the car still shivering underneath her thighs. He moves to unbuckle his seatbelt but she stops him with a press of a palm against his shoulder, steady and hard. "Stay," she repeats. "This is my show, Mike."

He laughs but he stays still for her. The laughter catches in his throat when she climbs up and over the steering column, skirt hiking up and panties shoved the rest of the way down in one smooth motion. They catch on her ankle, sticky-wet silk, but she barely notices.

"I want to climb you like a tree and ride you until your brains twist out of your head," she whispers into his ear while she winds one of her arms around his neck and shoulders. "Do you want me to? Say please."

Her other hand is busy on the fly of his trousers. The smooth, pressed khaki fabric pushed aside when he lifts his hips enough to get it out of the way. His eyes are wide, all iris, bright and seeing nothing but her. "Please," he groans. "I wish you would."

"Again." She looks into his eyes, just meets them, head on. Slips back enough to put one palm on his cheek.

"Evelyn, come on. Do it." He's breathing too hard. She likes that. It's not enough, though, he's still got too many words.

"Again. Ask me." It's a demand, nothing less. She kisses him before he has a chance to answer, once, but lingeringly. She uses her teeth.

"Please," he obliges. His lips don't close, they just stay parted. Shiny and wet, a drop of blood where her teeth sunk in. She tongues that spot, tasting it, iron warm. He moans, sharp and sweet.

"Again," she hisses, mouth pressed against his. He's so hard she can feel it where she's straddling him. So hard that it feels like if she arched just so his cock would slip right inside of her. "Mike. Again. Ask me." He's all sense and words, a scientist's control as steady in its way as a soldier's. She wants to make him give it up. She shifts so that she's squeezing him between her thighs, the warm, hard length of him pressed up against her but not inside. She can't hold him like this for long, too awkward a position, but she won't need to.

"_Bitte_," he whispers. "Evelyn." He means it so much, it is so easy for him to mean it sincerely. Sometimes she thinks she'll never understand him.

"I like the way you say my name," she tells him and then she moves. She's wet, easy-slippery, and it feels like she's been waiting for weeks, not hours. The muscles of her thighs tremble and then relax and she lets out a sigh as his body pushes into hers.

She rides him, like she promised she would, hard and fast, watching his face until it's too bright, until she has to bury her face in his shoulder because she can see everything he's feeling otherwise. Her hair is damp on the back of her neck, fans out and sticks to his skin, clinging to him like the rest of her can't help but do, and still, she rides him.

He makes sounds, soft and bitten off, hips bucking up. His hands are on her shoulders, down her spine, cupping her ass, everywhere. "I want to kiss you," he begs, "Evelyn," but she can't, he's too bright like this, she only shakes her head, nose rubbing against the sharp indent above his collarbone. "Evelyn," he says, and his palm is on the back of her neck, sweet and gentle. "Please. Look at me?"

She can't. She does it anyway, because it's him and he's asking. His eyes are bright, hazel shifting to something nearly blue in the sunlight. Trusting in her. She smiles, she can't do anything but smile, before she turns her face away and kisses his hand where it's cradled against her face, lips brushing over the wedding ring she put on his finger.

"I would do anything for you," she says and then she kisses his soft, smiling mouth, like a promise.

He gasps when he comes, a hitching near sob, and she drinks it in.

They're sitting like that, him sprawled out as much as he can in the passenger seat and her clinging to him, skirt hitched up past her waist and still straddling his thighs, when she hears the car pull off the road and come up next to them.

An ordinary black and white state police car with an ordinary pot-bellied policeman inside it. It's not funny, exactly, but she can't help but laugh. "Sir? Ma'am? Do I have to explain to you about public indecency laws?" the man says with an obvious eye-roll.

Mike flushes a charmingly bright red and Evelyn knows that any second now he's going to start to stammer something. She almost wants to let him, but fuck it. She sits back, smoothing her skirt down and grinning. The mood shatters, but she finds she doesn't mind seeing it go, that she has no fear of not finding it again.

"Not at all, officer," she says. "We know all about it."


End file.
